


The Universe Will Be Ours

by GooglyEyeAlien



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abusive Family, Aged-Up Morty, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Childhood Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Daddy Issues, Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M, Nighttime Escapades, Not Beta Read, PTSD, Sad, Self-Harm, Stuttering Morty, Summer is a raging bitch, Young Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), drug addict, suicidal stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooglyEyeAlien/pseuds/GooglyEyeAlien
Summary: After crossing paths in a shitty nightclub, Morty, an anorexic teenager, and Rick, a depressed alcoholic, spend a life changing night together in the city.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 20
Kudos: 38





	The Universe Will Be Ours

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya frens :3 This is my first fic in this fandom and the first fic I’ve ever shared on the internet! I’ve been in the Rick/Morty shipping fandom for just over a year, and I’m so exited but also super nervous to share this story with you! Originally this was just going to be one long story that I just post all at once, but I kinda got way too overwhelmed so I broke it into chapters. I’ve also been trying to write this since April if that says anything about my motivation and productivity during quarantine lol. Oh and trigger warning. It gets heavy. Also I was inspired to write this while listening to the song Lua by Bright Eyes, so go give it a listen sometime :) Also I’m sorry that there are no indents in the paragraphs. I wrote this in google docs and posted it with my phone, so it removed them all. And I’m way too lazy to go through and fix it.

There was nothing more Morty Smith hated than the idea of going to a nightclub. He had never been, but if it was anything like the clubs on the television, he knew it would be a horrible experience. They were loud and crowded and stunk of cheap booze. But when his sister, Summer, pressured him into coming with her and her friends, he couldn't possibly say no. She was a very overbearing and insistent person to the point that Morty wouldn’t be surprised if she murdered him in his sleep for rejecting her offer. Thus, out of pure terror, he agreed. There was no doubt in his mind that it was all for shows. His sister absolutely loathed him. She ignored him at school. She ignored him at home. She wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence unless it was to mock him or it benefited her in some way. Although Morty was well aware of Summers' mind games and burning hatred for him, he couldn’t help but feel overjoyed that she wanted to talk to him, much less be seen with him in public. 

The long drive to the nightclub was an uneventful ordeal. Neither of them spoke. The radio was playing the top forty hits of the past few months, none of which Morty knew. He wasn’t much into music. And when he did listen to it on the rare occasion, it was never the type of music that was worthy of being played on the radio. There was a thick tension in the car, unfeeling and unwavering, and Morty didn’t want to bring attention to it nor escalate it. So he sat with his hands folded in his lap and didn’t utter a single word. Morty was very good at being silent. It was one of his best qualities. The secret was to distract yourself with something insignificant. And that’s what he did. He just stared down at the frayed edges of his Wrangler jeans and resisted the urge to play and tug at the exposed threads, as he thought about the book he was reading earlier in the day. Meanwhile, his sister kept her eyes up and on the road, only ever looking down to glance at the speedometer. That surprised Morty tremendously. He always thought Summer was the type of person to text and drive as she was hardly ever away from her phone for more than a few seconds. But he supposed he was grateful. At least he knew she wouldn’t crash the car and put them both in early graves. 

When the siblings arrived at the bar, Morty already wanted to high tail it back home and pull the covers of his bed over his head and sink into nothingness. There were an innumerable amount of cars filling almost every space in the parking lot, their owners and passengers crammed into the enclosed building that his sister was forcing him to enter. Before Morty could even beg to be driven back to their house, Summer was already standing outside the car, adjusting her ginger ponytail and twirling her car keys between her fingers. He knew his sister would get pissed at him if he- in her words- acted like a little pussy. So Morty threw the car door open and stumbled out onto the pavement. His sister didn’t even spare him a glance, instead she began to furiously tap at the bright screen of her phone, presumably texting one of her many friends. 

Summer was a very popular girl. It took her a few years and throwing a lot of parties (that Morty hid in his room for) to climb the social ladder, but she finally got what she so desperately desired. Popularity, the high school equivalence of celebrity status. Everyone at school knew her, and everyone at school loved her. She was friends with nearly all the students that attended their high school, even the weird kids. Morty, on the other hand, became even more of a punching bag. The guys at school took great pleasure in beating him up. Besides already being small and unable to make a substantial difference when fighting back, he had gotten tired of trying and stopped resisting their violent advances. He just laid down and took the physical and verbal abuse. However, he noticed that they found it more enjoyable when he didn’t attempt to counter their attacks, and thus the frequency of the beatings have drastically increased. 

By some grace of a higher power, Morty had managed to avoid getting beaten to a pulp these past few days by hiding out in an old janitorial closet, and he was thankful that he didn’t have to deal with the dull throb of another black eye. Although he could still see out of it, his left eye was still tender to the touch. A large blue and purplish bruise that faded to yellow around its edge spanned the surface of his eye socket. The other bruises that dotted his pale body in splotchy messes of color had barely started to fade and still caused him to wince if he moved in the wrong direction just a little too quickly. 

A loud feminine squeal pierced the air causing Morty to wince. He turned towards the noise, only to see Jessica, Tricia, and a few other girls from school running towards the car. As they exchanged pleasantries, he kicked at some random pebbles with the rubber-toed tips of his shoes, wondering how he would greet his friends if he had any. 

“Hey, Morty.” Jessica said. Her tone was friendly, yet her eyes shone with pity. He absolutely hated it when people looked at him that way. Like he was some kind of stray puppy that had been kicked to the curb one to many times in its short life. His sister paused her blabbering and shot him a dark look, so instead of replying, he waved at Jessica shyly and continued to play with the numerous forgotten pebbles on the asphalt. 

Jessica opened her mouth like she was about to say something to him, but she let her lips fall close and turned back towards her friends. Morty sighed in disappointment, wishing he had made more of an attempt to converse with the redhead. She was a very nice girl, and he’d always had a huge crush on her. But he knew that his sister would crucify him if he even attempted to ask Jessica out on a date. Recalling the many days Summer threatened to end him always made a shiver rake down his spine and reminded him never to do anything that would piss her off. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Summer said, snapping her fingers in front of Morty’s face like he was on the same level as a cockroach and not a human being. 

“Ye-yeah… sorry…” 

Summer shoved a little plastic card into his hands. Morty stared down at it, curiosity shining in his eyes. It was a fake ID and a legit one too. He had never seen one in person before, only on the crime shows he enjoyed watching on the television. It was almost a perfect replica of the one in the plastic pocket of his wallet. Morty would have never known the difference between the two IDs if he had not compared the ages on both. Morty true age was barely eighteen years, yet the fake ID stated he was twenty one. He studied the plastic card closer, admiring the attention to detail of the fake ID. Morty could tell that the photo was a photo from _before_. The grin on his face was wide and toothy, and a slight dimple formed near the corner of his lip. His hair in the photo was shorter, almost a buzzcut, and neater than the messy mop of hair that now tickled his cheekbones and the base of his neck. He had on a neatly pressed white dress shirt that his mom used to force him to wear. She would always ignore his whining protests and button up his shirt, fondly folding the collar over and patting him on the head. He missed when his mother was a loving and caring woman, and not the unfeeling alcoholic that he turned her into. 

“Wh-where did you get t-these?” Morty finally said. He knew these were illegal, and they would get arrested and charged with a misdemeanor if the police caught wind that the group of minors were parading around town with a bunch of counterfeit IDs.

“Some guy I know.” Summer said vaguely, and Morty knew it was probably Todd. Everyone in town knew Todd. He was this middle aged man with stringy hair that liked to hang around the local schools and sell illegal shit to young adults. Morty once saw him slip one of his classmates' heroin behind the dumpster near the rear end of the school. Naturally, he pretended he didn’t see the exchange of goods happen and continued walking. Snitching was a surefire way to put a large target on your back. For obvious reasons, the drug addicts and experimenting jocks didn’t take too kindly to being ratted on. The last kid who told a teacher was jumped and beaten so badly he was sent to the hospital. So Morty kept his head down and his mouth shut, turning a blind eye to any illegal activities he witnessed taking place at his highschool. 

The group of girls rushed to the line that winded out of the club's entrance, leaving Morty, who’s mind was still on Todd, to follow awkwardly behind them. He didn’t know how they could run that fast in heels without falling and flattening themselves across the asphalt, yet they somehow managed to make it a considerable distance ahead of Morty before he even realized they were gone. The line into the club was very long, and he knew they would be standing outside for at least an hour or two. And he was right. By the time the group of young adults made it to the front entrance of the nightclub, the sky had turned from a mixture of orange and blush pink to a dark twilight. A shiver raked down his spine. He was only wearing a yellow cotton t-shirt that exposed his bare arms to the frigid air. Morty began to regret not bringing a jacket. 

Morty grew increasingly nervous as each of his sisters' friends flashed the bouncer their fabricated IDs and stepped through the thick doors of the club. He clutched the fake ID so tightly he could feel its sharp edges digging into the sweaty skin of his palm. The bouncer waved him forward, and Morty stumbled up to the red rope. It was hard to focus on anything except his brain screaming at him. He was going to find out. He was going to find out. He was going to find out. He was go–

Nibbling on his lip anxiously, Morty raised his shaking hand and presented the plastic card to the bouncer. The guy was enormous with a thick beard adorning his face and a multitude of black tattoos covering the lengths of his arms. Morty was absolutely terrified of the punch he would receive when the man realized that the teenager was attempting to illegally enter the club. The bouncer took the ID into his large hand, studied it, and glanced down at Morty, who was shaking like a leaf.

“You sure you’re twenty- one, son?” The man chuckled. Morty knew he looked very young for his age. Although he was eighteen, he had the face of a twelve year old. His cheeks were chubby and always sporting a rosy complexion, and his eyes were slightly too big for his face. He stood at an impressively short height of five foot and three inches, and his scrawny body only accentuated his young look. 

“Ye-” Morty started to respond but was cut off by his sister's fake high pitched voice that she used when she wanted something. 

“Right!” Summer giggled cheerfully. “Look at that baby face!” She pinched Morty’s cheek a little too hard, and he could feel the malicious intent it held. He gave a shy smile to the bouncer, whose eyes scanned him up and down. 

“Well go on in.” The man placed the fake ID back into Morty’s hand, his fingers lingering on the plastic card for a second too long before he retracted them. Morty could tell that the man didn’t believe his lies. But he was too distracted by the way the man stared down at him to figure out why. A feeling of perturbation pooled in his stomach and spread throughout his limbs. It felt like he was being slowly undressed by the dark eyes, his pale skin being revealed to everyone in the parking lot. However, his rising anxiety simmered to the backburner as Summer pushed him through the black metal doors of the club and away from the bouncer. 

Bright and flashing neon lights assaulted Morty’s eyes, and the loud music pulsated through his ears. A sea of bodies moved in accordance with the electronic beats produced by the speakers on the dance floor. The smell of alcohol and comfort food hung in the air and engulfed Morty’s nostrils. He could already feel his mouth starting to salivate. Summer’s nails dug into his shoulder as she led him through the crowd and towards a wall of hightop booths. When they made it to the table all of her friends were seated at, Summer dug her nails into the flesh of Morty’s upper arm before sitting down. He felt the message of her action loud and clear. A warning. Don’t talk to Jessica. Don’t embarrass me in front of my friends. 

Morty sat down on the puffy red bench, keeping his body perched on its edge as to not bump into any of the older girls. He rested his forearms on the table and played with his fingers nervously. The friends conversed about a wide array of topics- none of which Morty had any experience with- for what seemed like hours. Parties, hook-ups, makeup, friends. You name it, they talked about it. Morty felt a pang of envy directed towards the people he sat with. They were all pretty and popular and everything he wasn’t. And it made him feel incredibly awkward to be sitting there next to him, like he was encroaching on a very private and exclusive social club that he wasn’t a member of. He would have preferred to be reading a book or drawing a picture instead of sitting in the crowded space, but for some odd reason his sister wanted him to be there. And he didn’t understand why. It was very clear that he was the outcast of the group. He stuck out like a thumb that had been viciously beaten by a blunt object until it swelled and turned into a mixture of red and purple and blue tones. 

“I want to be tied up and pissed on.” 

Morty’s eyebrows shot up so high he was sure they would fly off his face and violently smack onto the ceiling. He wasn’t surprised to find out that it was Tricia who had said it. Unlike him, nobody at the table appeared to be even a bit disturbed by the statement. They just chuckled and began to discuss their kinks and fetishes. Morty was very _very_ uncomfortable, and it was reflected in the way that his big eyes darted around the space, never really focusing on a single object, and the slight tremor of the table caused by his bouncing leg. He didn’t know how they could talk about such subjects without being embarrassed, much less discuss them in a public setting. They were shameless. That was another thing that set him apart from those he sat with. 

“How do you stay so skinny, Morty? I mean look at the size of your wrists!” Tricia exclaimed, interrupting their conversation about being choked to poke at one of Morty’s very prominent wrist bones. He recoiled in disgust when her long acrylic nail dug into his flesh, his brain stuttering to a halt. The only thing filling his mind was the bright red scratches he used to see scraped into the length of _his_ back. They were long and oh so red...

“Oh… uh…fast metabolism.” Morty took a breath as he lied and quickly folded his hands together in his lap. He nervously peeled at a loose hangnail, hissing lightly as he tore it away from his finger causing a drop of blood to well up in its wake. He cursed under his breath as he wiped the blood on his jeans. 

“Damn, I’m just so unlucky.” Tricia pursed her lips and blew out a large puff of air right into his face. Her breath smelt of spearmint chewing gum- or maybe it was mint tobacco, he couldn’t tell- and cheap lipstick. 

“Whatever Tricia, you wouldn’t have those tits if you did.” Another one of the girls chimed in. The table erupted in laughter. Morty cracked out a small grin even though he didn’t understand what was so humorous. He just didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself.

“Hey Morty, go get us french fries, pretzel bites and chips with cheese.” Summer said as she shoved a twenty dollar bill in his direction. And once the laughter died down, there was a collective response of ‘ooos’ and ‘ yesss’ from Summer’s friends. There goes his plan to fade into the background and hide away from the teenage girls that he sat next to.

“Su-Sure.” Feeling the immense pressure to deliver, Morty clutched the money in his hand and slipped down the side of the booth. He weaved between the groups of dancing people, getting bumped and pushed around way too many times for comfort. He nearly got trampled to death by the sets of moving feet that got especially rowdy when a particular song came on. It wasn’t even a good song either. It was one of those cheesy mass produced pop songs that only existed to make a profit off of impressionable and insecure teenagers like him. When he finally reached the front of the nightclub, he breathed out a sigh of relief. The bar was full of drunk patrons, many of whom were close to almost teetering off the edges of the bar stools they sat on and to the ground. Morty approached the side of the bar and shyly raised his hand like he was in class to flag down the bartender.

“Hi, what would you like?” A tall, blond girl asked cheerfully.

“Um… french fries… pretzel bites… oh and chips and salsa… please.” Morty said as he placed the money onto the counter. He didn’t care what the total came out to be as long as it was less than twenty bucks. She grabbed it, put it into the register, and counted out his change. When she was finished, she dropped the pile of coins into his outstretched hand, and Morty stuffed them into one of the pockets in his jeans, promptly forgetting about their existence. 

“Okay! That’ll be a minute!” The bartender smiled and turned to make the food.

Morty stepped to the side to make sure he wasn’t in the way of any other people. His fingers toyed with the hem of his t-shirt as he took in his surroundings. Neon pink and blue lights spanned the ceiling in vertical stripes. Glass bottles in a variety of shapes and sizes full of social lubricant sat upon rows of clear shelving attached to the wall. There were a few large televisions above the row of beer taps which displayed random sports games. Morty never really liked sports. He had always found them pointless and rather boring to sit and watch. It was just two hours of sweaty men hitting balls around. What’s so interesting about that? Besides he preferred to view more creative entertainment such as movies and cartoons. Speaking of which, he really wished he was at home watching the Back to the Future trilogy for the one-hundredth time. He loved those movies so much. He had always been interested in the sci-fi genre. His room was full of alien paraphernalia and glow in the dark stars. Funnily enough as much as he was interested in science, he was never smart enough to actually pass the science courses he took in school. Many of the topics just didn’t make any sense to him. The countless definitions and complex ideas mixed together, becoming a jumbled ball of confusion inside of his most likely pea sized brain. However, he still enjoyed learning about things even if he couldn’t pass the tests on them. Especially if they interested him greatly. He could tell you all about the different stars and constellations and supposed alien sightings, but if asked about the organelles of a eukaryotic cell or the third law of thermodynamics his mind would go completely blank. 

“Hey there.” A heavy hand landed on his frail shoulder, and Morty nearly jumped out of his skin. Why did people always have to scare him to get his attention? He whipped around only to come face to face with the scary bouncer from the entrance. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he remembered how uncomfortably intense his stare was, and the way the bouncer studied his body, seeming to take his clothes off with his eyes. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” The man asked. His eyes once again trailed down Morty’s body, leering at his clothed back side. Morty began to tremble, his body vibrating faster than the speed of light.

“I-I don’t dr-drink…” Morty stuttered out his second lie of the night, recalling the only time he had ever gotten drunk. 

He was fourteen years old, and it was a Saturday night in early April. He felt like utter shit and so desperately wanted to end it all that night. But instead, he snuck into the kitchen and stole a long forgotten bottle of vodka from his mother’s alcohol cupboard. He knew she would be too drunk to even notice it missing. He mixed an ungodly amount of the alcohol with a can of pop. He then sat in his bed, hesitantly drinking the terrible concoction. It was the worst thing he had ever tasted. The sticky pop did nothing to mask the burning taste of rubbing alcohol. After he forced down the first cup, he stalked to the kitchen to make another as he didn’t feel like it was getting him drunk. By the time he had finished the second cup, he couldn’t even keep his head up straight. It lolled from side to side on his shoulders as a loopy feeling began to set in. The last thing he could remember was the vague memory of stumbling his way to the bathroom and puking out his guts into the clean porcelain toilet. He woke the next morning- dehydrated, nauseous, and with a brain splitting headache- and vowed he would never take another sip of alcohol for as long as he lived.

“Aw really? C’mon not just one?” The bouncer smirked down at him as he dug his thick tattooed fingers into the teens skin. The man’s touch felt like a burn, scorching hot and painful, against Morty’s exposed clavicle. He could feel _his_ touch. The way _his_ fingers would nip into the nape of his neck. Morty’s chest began to tighten as if it were being crushed in the palm of the most powerful fist on Earth. He could hear the rhythmic pulse of his heart pounding loudly in his ears as his breathing got more erratic.

“N-no…” Morty said as he tried to shrink away from the bouncer, but his grip on him only seemed to tighten. Morty could feel the panic rising in his body and the tears welling up in his eyes. He started to hyperventilate, the thick air causing his short and sharp breaths to get lodged in his throat. _Please no… please no… not again..._

“How about we go to the back and have a little fun. Just the two of us.” The man’s large hand squeezed his bottom roughly, his jeans bunching up at his grip. Morty gasped, his whole body going frigid. The only thought that occupied his mind were the memories of _him...him...him._

“Fuck off shithead.” A raspy voice barked out in a tone so harsh the conversations of the other patrons of the bar ceased to a halt.

Morty blinked through his tears and locked eyes with a peculiar looking man. His eyes were ice cold, devoid of any emotion except pure anger. His pale azure hair was a voluminous mess of spikes that stuck up in all different directions, seeming to have a mind of their own. It was a unique hairstyle. Most people liked their hair to be well-groomed and laying flat, but he didn’t seem to mind its overly messy appearance. There was a thick leather band secured tightly around the man’s neck. Morty had never seen anything like it before. The accessory reminded him of a dog collar. It was adorned with small metal spikes, and a large silver hoop that jutted out its front. Although it was a strange fashion choice, Morty somewhat liked it. 

“What did you say to me?” The bouncer removed his hands from Morty and crossed his arms in a threatening manner. But the man wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. His lips were pulled into a condescending smirk, and he took frequent nonchalant sips from the nearly empty bottle of alcohol in front of him. 

“Do you need your ears checked? Fuck. Off. Shithead.” The blue haired man sneered. Morty felt a wave of relief overcome him as the bouncer's attention shifted from him to the aggravated stranger.

“Can’t you see he’s not interested? I mean the k-kid’s making it pretty clear.” He gestured a hand towards Morty, who was still crying and on the verge of a panic attack, as he tried to slink away from the scene unnoticed. 

Morty gave the man a shaky but appreciative smile before moving further down the bar to wait for his sister’s food. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand to catch the tears and took deep breaths. He really did not want to have a panic attack in the middle of a crowded bar. To focus on something other than the suffocating tightness in his chest, he glanced around. He could see the pair of men arguing- well he wouldn’t call it arguing if only one party was doing the yelling. His voice was drowned out by the sound of the bustling bar, but it was very clear that he was screaming. The bouncer was beet red, purple veins protruding out his slick forehead, as he gesticulated in wild, sporadic movements. The man, however, still looked hardly disturbed. His features were relaxed, his unibrow set in a straight line, and he appeared to be at peace. He continued to take languid swigs from his alcoholic beverage and even ordered another all while the larger man hurled insults his way. Morty found it amusing, wishing that someday he could be as unbothered as that man. 

“Sorry for the long wait! We’ve been very busy tonight!” The barista’s cheery voice filled Morty’s ears and dragged his attention away from the two men. She slid three red baskets of food towards him on the smooth counter. He really underestimated how much food he actually ordered for the table. He had no idea how he was going to carry all of it.

“It’s okay...thanks...ha-have a nice d-day.” Morty said as he smushed one of the baskets against his chest and held the other two in his nervous hands. He traversed through the crowd once more, being extra careful as to not drop the delicious smelling food. He just about failed and spilled the steaming baskets onto the ground when a random drunk girl bumped into his back, her elbow knocking right between his shoulder blades. He stumbled forwards and clutched onto the order like his life depended on it. Which it did in a way. He didn’t want to imagine the nasty look Summer would glare straight through him as if he didn’t even exist and the ugly words she would hiss at him. He somehow managed to stay steady on his feet, an amazing accomplishment for someone as clumsy as he was. The only casualty was a single fry that slipped through one of the holes on the basket. Morty watched as its life was cut abruptly short by the bottom of a large shoe. Poor little fry. When Morty made it to the booth, he gently set the food onto the table. He made it this far without screwing up, so what's the point of being careless now? He would surely have to go back to the bar and order more, and he really really _really_ didn’t want to see that bouncer again. 

“You fucking idiot! I said chips with cheese! Not fucking salsa. How stupid could you be?” The harsh tone of Summer’s voice cut through the conversation causing Morty’s body to involuntarily flinch. The whole table’s gaze burned into him, the judgement they cast towards him clearer than the glass of the tabletop. His eyes shot down to the floor in shame. He couldn’t believe he got the order wrong. He was certain she had said she wanted salsa and not cheese. Right…? God, he was so dumb. So so _stupid_ and _worthless_. Couldn’t even get a fucking order correct. He sucked in an unsteady breath and began to fidget with his fingers, one of his numerous nervous tics.

“You sa– I...I tho-thought you said ch-cheese…” Morty said meekly after some time, and his sister scoffed. How could he have screwed up this badly? It was such a simple request. Was he really _that_ incompetent? He knew he wasn’t the brightest at school, and his report cards were always littered with a mixture of D’s and F’s but he wasn’t a complete imbecile…right? He studied the various dots of grime on his white sneakers, too afraid to meet the irate glare of his sister. Her hooded stare pierced into him, burning red and painful holes in his skin. 

“How could you think that? You’re such a fuck up. God... Just sit down.” She hissed, and Morty promptly obeyed, not wanting to anger his sister any further. He plopped down onto the cushion like a lost little puppy following orders. The other girls started eating and resumed the conversation they were having before he was embarrassingly chastised by his sister in front of them. Why did she have to be so mean in front of all these people? 

Morty sat at the booth, anxiously tugging at the frayed edges of his jeans. He pulled the threads completely out and began wrapping them around his fingertips causing them to turn an aching and screaming purple. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home so badly. There were too many people here, and the music was too loud, and the tasty aroma of the food was becoming too hard for him to resist. He side eyed the pretzel bites, his mouth salivating in hunger. He hadn’t eaten yet today and after the whole ordeal with Summer, he didn’t feel like eating at all. 

“Are you hungry? You can have some if you’d like.” Jessica seemed to notice his looks and nudged the basket towards him with her perfectly manicured nails. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair was a vibrant shade of orange that reminded him of pumpkins in the fall. Freckled patterns of light brown were splashed across the skin of her face and arms. Her plump lips were light pink and glossy, and he wanted to kiss them.

“No-no, I’m g-good.” That seemed to dispel her suspicions of his hunger because she dragged the food back towards her and began to eat. He watched her. Morty didn’t understand how Jessica, or anyone really, could do it. Eat, that is, without mulling over how many calories the particular food was. Despite his horrific mathematical skills, his mind was always concentrated on numbers. Numbers here, numbers there, numbers everywhere. It was like the universe was playing some sick ironic joke on him just to taunt his irrational struggles with food. 

To guarantee that he wasn’t going to slip up, Morty surreptitiously wrapped his thumb and pinky finger around his wrist and focused his mind on the way they overlapped. He let out a slight smile. It made him feel better. It also reminded him of everything he sacrificed to get to this point. The many hours of obsessively measuring out his calories to the exact portion as to make sure he didn’t surpass his allotted calories for the day. The strenuous exercise that made his calcium deficient bones ache like that of a geriatric patient nearing death. The sharp intakes of breath that caused his trachea to burn while he ran through the dimly lit streets of his suburban neighborhood in the wee hours of the morning. The slight rasp in his voice a consequence of the numerous times he forcefully vomited the food he binged on into the toilet. He wouldn’t eat. He _couldn’t_ eat.

“Eat.” As if she could read his thoughts, Summer placed a basket of fries directly in front of him. He nervously scratched at his neck as he shot his sister an incredulous look. She knew about his struggles surrounding food. Why in the hell did she think he would eat? Especially in front of all of these people. The number one thing in life that he despised the most was eating, and the second was people watching him eat.

“No.” Morty said sternly. He was bouncing his leg so violently the booth shook with each tap of his foot. 

“Just fucking eat it, Morty!” Summer snapped, banging her fist on the table. The air around them went silent, and all the girls at the table began to watch the confrontation between the siblings.

Morty could feel the judgment radiating off of Summer’s friends. He looked up at Jessica, who quickly averted her gaze, before meeting eyes with his sister. She sighed in annoyance and gestured towards the food. Everyone at the table was watching him. He felt extremely uncomfortable, and he didn’t want them to stare at him anymore. He hated when all eyes were on him. To make them stop, he hesitantly grabbed a fry from the overflowing basket and placed it in his mouth. Morty chewed in a slow and methodical way, the saltiness of the fry exploding on his taste buds. It was bad. It was so so bad. He absolutely hated the way the limp potato turned into a mush inside of his mouth. Tears began forming in his eyes as he continued to chew. He couldn’t do this. The taste and texture were so gross it made him feel like throwing up. He quickly grasped at his napkin and spit the goo out into it. He folded it up and set it on the table next to the red basket. The napkin slowly folded open, and the chewed up french fries came into view. Some of Summer’s friends pretended- Morty couldn’t really tell if they were pretending or not but that’s what it looked like- to gag at the sight of it. 

“Come on, Morty. Stop being an overdramatic pussy,” Summer sneered, “just eat some more. It’s not that fucking hard.” But it was, it was, _it was._ She didn’t understand, and she would _never ever_ understand.

Morty screwed up his eyes, trying to prevent the onslaught of tears threatening to spill from his overactive tear- ducts. His efforts hardly made a difference. Wet, hot drops began to pour out of Morty’s eyes as he shoveled more of the french fries into his open mouth. He should have just stayed home. Gosh why didn’t he just stay home? His desire to die grew stronger every second. He wished he could spontaneously combust into a pile of oozy goo, just so he didn’t have to feel the numerous judgmental stares and the cruel gibes his mind vehemently threw at him. The fries were even soggier than before, and they felt mushy and lifeless against his tongue as he forced himself to swallow. Morty gagged, regurgitating the chewed up contents into his mouth. He quickly gulped down the mushy fry and bile tasting sludge so it wouldn’t spill out his mouth and onto the table. Although he somewhat wished he did just to see the faces of Summer’s friends pinch up in disgust. 

“N-no more…What- why di-did you even b-bring me here?” Morty asked timidly, his voice cracking heavily. 

“N-no more. What- why di-did you even b-bring me here?” Summer mocked in a baby like tone, and Morty winced. He hated it when Summer, or anyone really, picked on him for his stutter. He couldn’t control it no matter how many times he was yelled at to do so. 

“You really wanna know? The only reason you’re even fucking here is because Jessica wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you! How’s Morty? Is Morty doing okay? Morty this, Morty that. No one fucking cares about Morty, Jessica.” Summer’s voice was full of venom, her eyebrows knitted into an angry shape. He could practically feel her eyes going straight through him, and he saw her mouth continuing to move, presumably forming words that Morty was too distracted to hear. He was too busy concentrating on one thing. Jessica…was asking about him? Jessica from math class. She wanted to know how he was? Morty, the loser weirdo that was shunned by his whole school? 

“Are you even fucking listening to me?” Summer paused, snapping her fingers in his face like she did when they first arrived at the nightclub. When he didn’t answer, she let out an exasperated huff.

“You know what, Morty? You are worthless. No wonder everyone hates you. You should just kill yourself already.” The acerbic tone of his sister's voice penetrated Morty’s ears and knocked Jessica completely off his train of thought.

The words felt like a hard blow to the gut. 

“Maybe I will.” Morty snapped back through the tears, his voice shaking in a mixture of both anger and deep sorrow. How could she say something like that? He knew his sister despised him, but that much? He couldn’t take it anymore. The uncomfortable and pitiful looks of the other girls at the table, and the way his sister smirked smugly in his direction. He stood up abruptly causing the table to shake. Without saying a word, he bolted away from the scene and into the sea of dancing bodies.

Morty went to the only place he knew was safe from judging eyes. The restroom. He barged through the door, his breathing rapid and the food threatening to come up. He quickly locked himself in a stall and leaned against the door. He took a few deep breaths and rubbed at his tear stained cheeks. Summer was horrible. She was a terrible human and an even worse sister. Why did he put up with her bullshit? She was always harassing him. He could never catch a break. It was always something. His clothes, his interests, his stutter. Geez...maybe she was right? Maybe he really should kill himself. Nobody would even miss him if he did. Not the kids at school, not Summer, and especially not his mother. 

Morty fell to his knees, his pant legs landing in something sticky. It was probably pee, but he didn’t have the energy to care. He had more important things to do. He pressed his index and middle finger together and roughly shoved them down his throat as hard as he possibly could. He didn’t care that it hurt. He didn’t care that he could feel his sharp nails scraping the walls of his throat. In that moment, he desperately _needed_ the pain. 

Morty leaned over the toilet, letting all of the food and bile in his stomach fill it up. It smelled foul, but he was used to it. He was used to all of it. He shoved his fingers back in his throat, the puke coating his hands as it came up. He dropped it into the toilet. It made a splashing sound as it came in contact with the toilet water. It hit him in the face. The pressure in his head tightened as he continued to jab at his uvula with his nails and puke out his failure. His eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his skull. His legs shook violently, his bony knees knocking together. He could feel the painful lurch in his stomach, a mixture of mostly stomach acid and a tiny bit of sludge coming back up as he purged what was hopefully the last of the food from his stomach. 

“You okay in there? I saw those whores laughing at you.” There was a knock at the door of the bathroom stall. Morty glanced up from the toilet, his eyes widening and heart beating frantically in his chest. He wasn’t expecting anyone to disturb his purging session. Nobody ever did. He was certain that both Summer and Beth could hear him when he purged. He wasn’t very quiet about it. When he first started, he used to take as many precautions as he could so his family wouldn’t hear the gagging and retching from the communal bathroom. But as time went on, the cares he had to give lessened, and he stopped trying to hide what he was doing while in the restroom. 

“Fuck. Are you in there or is this the wro- _oungghh_ -mg stall?” The voice echoed throughout the bathroom. Morty stood up and stared at the dull color of the stall door. Should he open it? What if it was the bouncer? Hesitantly, he turned the lock and pulled the flimsy metal door open. It was the strange looking man from the bar. Morty hadn’t realized how much the man actually towered over him until he had to look upwards to even see his face. He was like a tree, lanky and composed of spindly arms and legs. His unibrow furrowed into a concerned V as he stared down at the teenager. Although they had previously pierced through Morty’s being and made him feel something akin to uneasy, his eyes now had a warmth to them. One Morty hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

“Y-y-yes. I’m ok- I’m fi-fine!” Morty croaked out, his voice hoarse and scratchy from purging. He decided to keep his responses vague. He really didn’t want to develge into his personal life and problems with someone whose name he didn’t even know. 

“Pfft yeah right, you’re a f-fucking _mess_ . No need to lie, kid. I have fu- _uuoghh-_ cking eyes you know.” The man said, sipping from a rather large silver flask. He was right. Morty looked like absolute shit. There was bile coating the lower half of Morty’s face, sticky snot running down his cupid's bow, dripping onto his upper lip and mixing with the stomach acid, and small red dots started to form below his eyes from the forcefully induced vomiting. His skin was paler than usual, and he trembled slightly from either the sudden loss of electrolytes or the dip in his blood sugar levels. Most likely a mixture of both. 

“You don’t have to talk ab-about it if you don’t want to, but it helps.” The older man said as he disappeared from the entrance of the stall.

A couple seconds later he reappeared and handed a few balled up pieces of cheap brown paper towel to Morty. The teen wiped the mess from his face, blew his nose, dabbed away his tears, and tossed the dirtied towels into the toilet. His hands were still sticky with vomit, and the man noticed. Morty felt a hand gently grasp his upper arm, and he flinched away so harshly he almost banged against the side of the bathroom stall. A look of shock overtook the man’s features, but he quickly covered it up with a kind smile, regaining his composure. 

“I’m sorry. Is- Is it okay if I hold your arm?” The man asked softly. Morty hesitated a moment before nodding. Morty appreciated the fact that he had asked for permission before grabbing him again. He was so sick of people touching him without warning.

The man reached for Morty’s arm once again, wrapping his hand around the skinny limb and giving it a small, comforting squeeze. Morty didn’t flinch away this time. He led the teen, whose legs were shaking, to the sink. He turned the large knobs to warm, and Morty began to wash away the bile on his hands with soap and water. The man still held on to Morty’s arm, probably worried that he might fall, hit his head, and bleed out all over the linoleum tiles. When the teenager finished, the man silently wiped his hands dry and led him back to the stall. He let go of him, and Morty sank to the ground. He leaned against the side of the stall, wrapping his arms around his knees and tipping his head back to rest on the wall. Morty appreciated the man’s kind gesture and tried to nod and smile to show it, but the faint feeling in his head prevented it. He thought he’d pass out onto the dirty floor if he even dared to try. 

The man noticed that Morty wasn’t feeling all to well, and he began to dig around in the pockets of his leather jacket. He pulled out a single blister pack, peeling away its plastic backing and dumping a tiny blue pill into the middle of his palm. He held it out towards Morty, who pinched it between his thumb and pointer finger. He stared down at it skeptically because he knew it wasn’t a smart idea to take a random pill some odd stranger gave you in the bathroom of a bar. That would be a recipe for disaster. However, the more he thought about it the more he seemed to care less and less. He was notorious for making horrible decisions and screwing everyone’s life up. So fuck it. Why did it matter if the man drugged him and he woke up in an ice bath without some of his organs? He would _deserve_ every second of it. Again, no one would miss him if he was gone. Definitely not his sister or his alcoholic mother. Many things preoccupied their minds, and the wellbeing of Mortimer Smith wasn’t one of them. They probably wouldn’t even notice that he was dead and dismembered in a tub until months after every last part of his body was sold and shipped off. _You should just kill yourself already._ Without a second thought, Morty placed the pill on his tongue and swallowed it without water, a fucked up part of him kind of hoping that it was some type of roofie or other sedating drug.

It wasn’t. 

The little blue pill was odd, very much like the man who had given it to him. As soon as Morty felt the circular shape scratching through his esophagus, the faint feeling in his head completely vanished into thin air. The hoarseness in his throat dulled. The erratic palpitations of his heart slowed to a steady rhythmic beating, and the quivering weakness in his limbs subsided. _What the hell?_ His eyebrows shot up in surprise, his lips shaping into an O. He rubbed a hand against his forehead as if he was trying to feel where the aching in his head had disappeared to. 

“There much better.” The man shot him a boyish smile that caused his eyes to bunch up at the corners. The gesture made a light blush coat Morty’s cheeks despite the confused look sporting his features.

“Wh-what… what was _that_?” 

“A pill that can cure any physical illness. Pretty cool, huh? It can even cure cancer.” The man said, his raspy voice full of self- satisfaction. Morty’s eyes widened, not sure if he should feel impressed or skeptical. Perhaps both. This man can cure cancer? _Fucking cancer?_ Who the hell is this guy? 

“H-how...geez... where...where did yo-you get that?” Morty stammered, still shocked and bemused by the possibility of such a medication even existing. It was impossible right? If a medication that cured cancer existed, the government would surely be producing millions of those little pills? Or maybe they wouldn’t. Morty didn’t pay much attention to what the government did. 

“I’m a scientist. I invent cool shit. Name’s Rick.” He held his hand out to be shaken in an inviting manor. His nails were painted black, the polish chipping at its edges. That’s strange. Morty thought only girls paint their nails. It fit in with the aesthetics of the man’s outfit though, so maybe that’s why he wore it. He tentatively grasped at Rick’s hand, quickly partaking in the rather unhygienic and uncomfortable social greeting before pulling his arm back to his side. 

“Oh jeez, th-that’s co- awesome… um I’m Morty. Ho-how did y-you make _that_?” 

“It’s just something I whipped up when I was a teenager.” He shrugged nonchalantly, like curing one of the most incurable things took as little effort as washing your hands. Morty remembered talking about cancer in biology. It was one of those random factoids that sometimes got stuck in his brain. He especially remembered his teacher mentioning how difficult curing it would be due to how unpredictable and uncontrollable cell growth was. Not to mention, the amount of cancers that existed in the world. 

“So what’s- what’s bothering you? I know I said you didn’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna, but I’m kinda in-intrigued.” Rick said, and Morty shot him a nervous look. The pair were strangers. Morty was positive he had never seen this guy anywhere before tonight. So why did this man take such an interest in him? He was awkward and weird and had a stupid stutter. 

“Oh...u-uh why?” Morty fiddled with his fingers out of nervousness, twisting his top knuckles until they made a soft crackling sound. It was a nasty habit of his that his mother tried to beat out of him. It didn’t work. It did quite the opposite actually. 

“Curio _-aaughh_ -sity is in my job description, Morty.” Rick chuckled deeply. It was a pleasant sound, full of warmth and genuine feeling. It’s rich tone echoed throughout the empty bathroom and filled Morty’s ears with a cozy feeling. 

“My sister… she’s a...she’s being a…she’s being a…” He stuttered uncontrollably aa what she said came back to mind. He felt so furious he couldn’t even get the words to come out of his mouth. 

“Bitch?” Rick suggested, and Morty jerkily nodded his head. He didn’t want to say anything bad about Summer. Although she was mean and incredibly cruel to him, she was still his sister. And for some odd reason, he still cared about her even though he knew it was unrequited on her end. She wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he were to die. She would probably ditch the funeral too, most likely electing to go to the mall or a party with her posse of girls. 

“She sa-said some… stuff to m-me that hurt my… feel-feelings.” His voice was meek, and he felt embarrassed by how small he sounded. Rick didn’t say anything. He just stared at him, and Morty couldn’t tell what was going on inside of the man’s head. Was he judging him? Did he think he was a stupid crybaby? Most people did. The longer his gaze was fixated on him, the redder Morty’s face seemed to burn. 

“So wanna get the hell out of here? I know you don’t really kn-know me, but I’m not a axe murder baby, I swear.” Rick broke his gaze and smiled goofily at the teen as he put his hands up as if he were surrendering to an enemy force. Mortys face seemed to flush even brighter than it already was at the nickname. Nobody had ever called him baby before. Even if it was in a joking matter, it made his stomach explode into a cascade of fluttering butterflies. Morty stared wide-eyed at him, contemplating the likelihood that the man would murder him and dismember his corpse. Ultimately, he decided he _still_ didn’t care whether Rick took his organs and put him into an ice bath or not. He just wanted to be someplace far far away from the dirty bar bathroom and his cruel heartless sister.

“Su-sure… yeah. Le-let’s go…” 

“Fuck yeah! Follow me!” Rick’s voice was full of excitement as he tugged Morty up off the linoleum floor by his knobby wrist. His grip was tight and exerted enough pressure that made Morty worry that his weak bones would snap cleanly in half. Morty’s eyes bore into the hand around his wrist. His fingers were _so long_ \- or maybe Morty’s wrist was _so small_ \- that they overlapped. So much so that the tips of Rick’s fingers could graze his second knuckles. Morty grinned slightly, not being able to help the sick satisfaction that welled up in his chest at the unintentional body check. 

Morty ungracefully trailed behind the man, tripping over his own shoes an innumerable amount of times, as he was led through the threshold of the restroom door and into the hallway. The dim fluorescent lighting only seemed to enhance the ashen look of Rick’s skin. It was abnormal. Just like the color of his hair. Everything about the older man’s appearance was unconventional and an anomaly of nature. But Morty found him oddly attractive. There was something about his raspy voice and bushy unibrow and unruly fluff of blue-grey hair and the way he looked down at him with eyes full of kindness that made Morty’s heart swell to the point of nearly bursting.

As Rick pulled him through the side door of the club and into the cool breeze of the starry night, Morty felt the beginnings of a crush start to form.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya again! I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I’m not really sure if I got everything correct. I’ve never had alcohol or been to a bar. I tried to imitate what I’ve seen on the television and what other authors do, so I hope it turned out alright! Also I’m not sure if it’s unrealistic for Morty to already have a crush on Rick. They literally just meet lol. I mean I literally have a crush on a guy that I’ve never even talked to once in my life (rip), so maybe it’s not all that weird. Anyways, I really love the idea of young Rick Sanchez. I was gonna write a whole thing about how interesting and awesome young Rick’s character is, but I’m just gonna say the real reason we all love him. He’s so fucking hot and wears the best clothing! I don’t know if I want to be him or be with him! On one hand, I would love to walk around in Doc Martens, a collar, piercings, and a leather jacket. But on the other hand, I’m too shy for that lol. All the attention and judgement would be too scary for my little awkward heart… In conclusion, I think I want to date him, and I’m also doomed to wearing baggy jeans, cat t-shirts, and sneakers for the rest of my days :’) 
> 
> Anyhow, I never ever share my stories with people because I’ve always felt embarrassed and scared of what they would think. So I’m stepping out of my comfort zone and posting my writing. Ahh so scary!! I would appreciate any and all constructive criticism as I never really have the chance to get feedback on my writing. The criticism would really help. So don’t go easy on me lol. I would also love to know what you guys think about my writing style! I know I have a lot to improve. A lot of it feels kinda awkwardly worded. I feel like it's lacking detail and inner character monologue, so I’ll definitely be trying to work on that. I also repeat a lot of words like seemed and nearly, so I’ll try to stop. They also stare a lot. I’m still an amateur writer, so my writings still a bit weird sounding. But if there’s anything else feel free to let me know :) Also I’m sorry if parts of this fic seems rushed. Especially the middle where Summer was forcing Morty to eat. I’m still not completely happy with it. But I just wanted to get it done as fast as possible after procrastinating on posting it for so long. 
> 
> I’m also planning on writing more fics! I already have incomplete and messy drafts for at least three stories, but I will finish writing this one before posting more. Maybe. I get bored and distracted very easily, so I may jump around a lot. I’m also working on something a little different. I’ve never seen it done before in this fandom, so I’m really excited for you guys to read it! It also has young Rick in it! Sort of. He’s older than the Rick in this story but younger than C-137. So yeah! I have no idea how long it’s gonna take for me to post it because I’m a very slow writer but be on the lookout guys! Also I was wondering if there is a market for Morticia stories? Recently I read- by recently I mean like July lol my time is super messed up because of quarantine- read whyamilike_this’s fic U is for Ubiquitous, and I loved it! It was so amazing! I highly recommend it! I never read Morticia fanfic’s before, and I was shocked at how much I liked it. So if you guys would like it, I might write my own Morticia fic sometime ;)
> 
> Sorry for the rambling! I talk alot when I’m nervous lol! Thank you so much for reading my first fic and the really long mess of this author's note! I really appreciate it! Until next time my frens :)


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